


Joust Another Normal Day

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Cute Castiel, Cute Dean Winchester, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Flustered Castiel, Flustered Dean Winchester, Jousting, Knight Castiel, M/M, Nerd Dean Winchester, Renaissance Faires, Turkey Legs, tokens of affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 05:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15812061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Charlie plans a trip to the Renaissance Fair with her best friends Dean and Sam Winchester. However, of the three, Dean is the least enthusiastic about going - at least for show. In truth, he finds the Fair interesting. Especially when he comes across an enchanting member of the Fair.Will Dean be swept away like the damsel he is, or will his mood forever be stuck in the Dark Ages?





	Joust Another Normal Day

**Author's Note:**

> So recently I went to a Renaissance Fair and one-two-three INSPIRATION!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

            Dean tugs on the leather wrapped around his forearms, adjusting it slightly from how it shifted, and pulling the straps tighter. He fiddles with it for a good while before an arm throws itself around his shoulders. Looking up from his wrist, Dean casts an annoyed glance at his beaming, redheaded friend. Charlie only squeezes tighter, jostling him.

            “It’s fine, Dean,” she says, “Your whole costume is in perfect order… just like it was when we left your apartment, and when we got out of your car, and even when –“

            “Okay, I get it,” he cuts her off, taking a quick peek at his outfit one more time. His leather boots were still a bit dusty from walking through the parking lot – but better than the mud on Sam’s when he accidentally stepped through the dewy field. His pants and tunic feel sweaty, but the leather over shirt and chainmail collar piece hide any evidence of stain. However, he does wish he left his sword back with Baby – the heavy wood tiring and cumbersome to drag around all day.

            “Do you?” Charlie continues, “Or are you just saying that to _appease_ your _Queen_?”

            Dean scoffs, “Please, you know I’ve never _appeased_ you a day in your _life_.”

            “Very true,” Charlie says, pouting, “Why _do_ I keep you on as a handmaiden then?”

            “Because good help is hard to find?” Dean shrugs, “Or maybe because Sam makes me look like a good handmaiden by comparison?”

            Sam walks in on the tail end of Dean’s statement, frowning at him, with two legs of turkey in hand. “I resent that,” he says, handing one of the legs to Charlie, and holding the other one away from Dean. “And because of your comment, this is mine.”

            “Oh come on!” Dean barks out, “You don’t even like it!”

            “No, I said it was empty calories,” Sam tells him, taking a large bite of the turkey, “Butsh shpite issha good enough reashon to pack ‘em shon.” Dean pouts fiercely, watching his brother eat _his_ turkey leg.

            “Really?” Dean whines, “ _This_ was the only reason I even agreed to drive you two in the first place!”

            “We both know that’s not true, Dean,” Charlie says, swallowing a juicy piece of meat, “Don’t try and keep up a cool front with us.”

            “Yeah,” Sam agrees, “You wanted to come to the Renaissance Fair as much as we did.”

            “Like that’s true,” Dean scoffs, squeezing his midsection, “Way I remember it, the two of you had to beg me because Charlie’s car was still over at Bobby’s and _you_ bike.”

            “You didn’t have to dress up though?” Sam smirks, victoriously tearing off another strip of leg from the bone, watching Dean’s face fill with color. His brother short circuits, sputtering noises every five seconds.

            “Well,” he finally recovers, saying, “It’d be weird to come and _not_ dress up.”

            “Only if we were at one of our LARP events,” Charlie points out, “Which you _also_ take great pride in.”

            “That’s different! LARPing involves strategy, skill… planning against an enemy army to win! Not…” he glares at two Fair workers, a man in Renaissance clothing looking around wide-eyed for a woman in blues and purples and wings dancing to his right, to the amusement of a baby in a stroller, “an absence of shame.”

            “Didn’t think you still had any shame left after Lisa,” Sam says, clapping a hand to Dean’s shoulder, finishing off the turkey leg.

            He glowers harshly at Sam, his ex’s name like a needle to his already flimsily inflated enthusiasm, popping it to whiz about before fluttering sadly to the ground. “And on that note,” Dean mutters, pulling away from them, “I am going to get my own turkey leg.” He offers each of them a middle finger and stalks over to where Sam went.

            His absence barely affects the others.

            “So,” Sam says, “What do you want to do?”

            “Let’s go get our hair braided! I saw a lovely little stand just over there…”

            Their voices trail off the closer he gets to the food stand. And with his already diminished luck, the line seems to stretch thirty people long. Dean sags, trudging towards the end to wait – his thoughts darkening under the blistering sunlight.

            It’s been a few months since Dean has heard Lisa’s name – but the wound badly healed. So even the mere reference of her sends phantom pains throughout. He doesn’t miss her – their relationship had ended way before _she_ officially called it off. Dean only wishes that it didn’t go down like it did. Sam and Charlie only know that Lisa threw him and everything he owned out of her house, _loudly_. What they didn’t know was –

            “Excuse me? Are you going to move ahead?”

            Dean startles, turning towards the man behind him. He was similarly dressed to Dean, except his tunic was a thick black, and his tanned arms were exposed to bronze further. The man watched him bemusedly, a questioning smirk on his face, surrounded by days worth of scruff.

            “What?”

            “The line,” the other man says, pointing ahead, “it’s moving. In fact,” a few people shuffle forward, “there it goes!”

            “Alright, alright, I get it,” Dean chuckles, taking wide steps towards the woman in front of him. He pauses, looking back towards the man once more. “So,” he starts, “you must really want a turkey leg, huh?” He tries to pocket his hands, but the absence of pockets leaves his hands to hang awkwardly at his sides. Dean stews in the awkward, jerky movement.

            “But of course,” the other man says, crossing his arms, “I mean, don’t you?”

            “Yeah,” Dean says, laughing, “Wish I didn’t have to wait so long…”

            “It can get maddening…” the other guy trails off, looking to the side, “But you get used to it.”

            “Sounds like you know a thing or two about waiting in lines,” he says, “You do this stuff a lot?”

            “I’m not sure,” the other man hums, scratching at his chin, “By ‘this stuff’ do you mean the Fair or waiting in lines? Because I don’t think that’s a respected profession…”

            “The first one,” Dean snickers, beaming at him, “Although the waiting in line job sounds like it’d come with good pay.”

            “As it should,” he responds, “however the benefits are somewhat lacking. I mean no dental… _barbaric_.” The other man finally breaks down, he and Dean laughing as they move forward in line.

            “I’m Castiel,” he holds his hand out to Dean, “I work here.”

            “Dean,” he says, gripping Castiel’s warm hand in his, “I don’t.” They take a few more steps forward. “Although, I didn’t think you would either. You don’t act like any of your… uh, co-workers.”

            Castiel huffs, “We do have things called breaks in ye olden times.”

            “So will I be seeing you prancing around at some point?”

            “I wouldn’t say that…” Castiel smiles, “Prancing isn’t really my thing.”

            “Oh really?” Dean asks, knocking shoulders with Castiel, “Pray tell what _is_ your thing then?”

            “I’ll tell you,” Castiel teases, “If you tell me what you were thinking about earlier?”

            “Y’know,” Dean says, ducking away shyly, “I’ll just guess. Probably something embarrassing anyway… like the guy who gets hit with rotten tomatoes.”

            “No, that’d be Uriel,” Castiel smirks, “He’s the funniest member of our troupe.”

            “With a name like Uriel I’m sure he’d _need_ a sense of humor to get by.”

            “Good one,” Castiel chortles, slapping Dean’s back, “Keep moving… yeah, so that’s not what I do. You have any other guesses?”

            “No, I think I’m good,” Dean tells him, “Besides, we’re almost to the front anyway.” Two people stand in front of them now, and the aroma of the roasting meat waft over towards them. “Thanks,” he says, “For making waiting in line interesting.”

            “Well, my job was easier thanks to audience participation,” Castiel says, glancing up-and-down Dean’s face. He feels a blush creep up his neck, and Dean rubs a hand over to hide it.

            “I’m glad I could help.”

            “In many ways, Dean,” Castiel whispers, “In many ways.”

            “Next!”

            Dean slowly leaves, walking towards his server. Her brown hair is in braids, and the blouse is the kind of cut Dean would appreciate if his thoughts weren’t otherwise distracted. “One turkey leg please,” he asks, drumming his fingers on the counter. She says something in an accent, ringing a bell, but Dean barely pays attention. His hunger has transformed, and the turkey leg won’t be enough to sate it.

            It feels like an eternity before she returns with his food. Dean pays her, leaving the change and hurrying off to the side where those _with_ turkey legs go. However, Castiel is not there. Dean turns and turns, but cannot catch sight of him. He feels his smile deflate, and he gloomily stares at his turkey leg.

            “Hey!” Charlie calls him, “What are you doing?”

            He jumps, whirling to face her and Sam, slipping into a half-smile. “Oh, nothing, just…” he waves the leg around, “thinking how great this’ll taste.” He finally notices their hair, and nearly loses it. “What happened to you two?”

            Sam sighs, touching the petals of the flowers woven into his hair sadly. Charlie, however, beams proudly with her new braids. “We were just made _slightly_ more awesome, that’s what happened!” She grabs for Dean’s hand, pulling him and Sam along, “Now let’s keep going! There’s so much more I want to do.”

            “Okay, don’t tear my arm off…” Dean chuckles, taking a bite of his leg. He glances around once more for a sight of Castiel, but finds nothing.

            ‘ _Whatever_ ,’ Dean rationalizes, ‘ _We only talked once, not like I’m missing out on anything_.’

            More turkey leg helps him not think. 

* * *

 

            “Whoa, Charlie, you were right. The extra five dollars sure were worth it!” Sam remarks, clapping as the men on the field clash their swords together. Dean agrees, cheering loudly as one of the knights on field kicks away his opponent’s shield. Both he and Sam had questioned the rationality of paying for something that was already free. But VIP tickets meant ‘ _VIP’_ to the people at the Renaissance Fair. They along with all the other ticket-holders were seated as close to the action as they could get. Not only that, but they had a nice view of the nobility on their way in. And vice versa. Dean still feels the dark stare of the queen from behind him.

            “It always is,” Charlie agrees, on the edge of her seat as the victor ‘stabs’ his opponent, “But just wait until we get to the jousting! I heard it’s one of the best parts of the fair.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah,” Charlie gushes, “the guy who plays the Black Knight is apparently is the best jouster in the nation.”

            “Wonder how they decided that,” Dean snickers, “Was it a voting system, or did they battle it out ‘Contest of Champions’ style?”

            Charlie is about to answer, but a boldly dressed man in bells hops his way to the center of the field, interrupting the victor in his celebration. “All cheer the might and glory of Sir Michael of Havenswood!” he cheers, clapping loudly, “Claiming victory over his sworn enemy, Sir Lucifer of the Morning Star! Twas bloody, twas barbarous, twas good _family_ entertainment! Now, please, drag your enemy off the stage.” Michael nods, grabbing Lucifer’s arms and moving him away from the crowd.

            “Now as we set up for the main event, I must ask: how are ye good folk doing this fine day?” The crowd cheers loudly. “I thought so. But prepare for it all to get better! Trust your friendly neighbor Jester, Gabriel, to deliver on his promises. I mean I have to seeing as King Charles hasn’t punished me yet. Seriously, the man knows how to make heads roll – a true inspiration to King Henry –“

            “Please Jester,” the King calls out, “Enough about me. On with the show!”

            “As you wish, sire,” Gabriel bows. He looks behind him, then back at his audience, “In good time, too. As we are now ready… for the joust!” An uproar booms from the stands. “Like I thought. But please, save it for our competitors. Now, let me welcome to the field our challenger. Hailing from the House of Roche, Lord of Thorns – Sir Balthazar. A speckled horse gallops onto the scene, a blond man atop it. He slows to a trot, and Balthazar soaks up the crowd’s attention. To Dean, the guy seems like a glory hound – and can’t wait to see the guy who’s going to knock him off his high horse.

            “Ah, a joy as ever. But he is but one half of the show, folks. As our returning champion now enters the field! Legends have it he was born from the tears of the Lady of the Lake at Arthur’s funeral. Others say he emerged from a riverbed with a sword in hand and a stick up his – oh I shouldn’t say. He’s successfully won every match he’s been in, and kills competitors as fiercely as he kills the mood at any party. Please give it up for Sir Emmanuel, our very own Black Knight!” The crowd goes mad as a black mare gallops forth, her rider fierce and focused.

            Dean barely cheers, too stunned by Emmanuel – ‘ _no… Castiel_?’

            The more Dean follows the path he makes, the more certain he becomes that Emmanuel and Castiel are the same. However, trying to match the easy and relaxed grin from before with the strong frown he sees now was a herculean feat.

            “Hey, Earth to Dean. You okay?”

            He snaps out of it, turning to a concerned looking Sam. “What?”

            “You zoned out man,” Sam tells him, “You good?”

            “Course I’m good,” Dean blushes, turning, “I was just… appreciating the horse. Reminds me of Baby… if she was a horse?”

            Sam raises a brow, but turns away, muttering a quick, “Weird” under his breath.

            The moment quickly passes, and they both return their eyes to the scene. It seems that in the quick conversation between the brothers, both Castiel and Sir Balthazar have dismounted and met in the middle of the set-up.

            “So… Balthazar, Emmanuel… anything to say to each other?”

            “Just that our famed champion will need a handkerchief by the time our bout is finished,” Sir Balthazar starts, “For the loss of his legacy shall be a sorrowful affair.”

            “What bold words!” Gabriel comments, turning to Castiel, “Emmanuel… a response?”

            Castiel says nothing, only squinting and tilting his head.

            “Please, slow down – I’m not sure the crowd understands you,” Gabriel chuckles. He turns to the audience, “Tis the strong and silent type.”

            “Now,” he continues, “Enough chatter – let’s begin!” Gabriel dashes away towards the stands as Castiel and his competitor move back towards their horses. Dean keeps his eyes locked on Castiel, watching him mount his horse, shifting in his seat.

            It’s not long before he’s staring into the other man’s blue eyes. Castiel checks his armor when he notices Dean’s presence in the audience. He breaks character slightly – only enough if you’re really looking. His gaze widening and mouth dropping slightly, only to sheepishly shift into a smile before stopping at a frown. Castiel turns towards his page, a young fair-headed boy, and grabs his helmet, shield, and lance.

            “You think he’s gonna win?” Sam asks them, “I mean… he can’t win _every_ time right?”

            “You’d be surprised, Sam,” Charlie says, “The only way he’d lose is if he was about to quit or be fired. And judging by the crowd… I doubt either is close.”

            “Maybe… what do you think, Dean?”

            “Hmm… what?”

            “You think he’s going to win?”

            “Oh… he’s a winner all right.” He leans further up in his seat, playing with his thumbs, “I mean look at that lance…”

            The horses pound their hooves into the dirt, sending it flying up, riling the crowd further into frenzy. Castiel and Sir Balthazar sit ready at their posts, waiting for the starting horn. Gabriel doesn’t delay, holding the long instrument up and blowing hard.

            The sound drowns out the responding whinnies as the horses gallop forward. The two knights hold their own as their weapons come closer. The blows are quick, but not damaging. Neither man moves from his seat. They and their horses trot over to their starting points once more.

            “Remember, no man gets it right on their first try,” Gabriel jokes, “Once more!”

            The second attempt ends like the first, except Balthazar’s shield has a nasty scrape on it that wasn’t there before. The two men ready for their third go as Gabriel warms up the crowd once more.

            “Third time be-ith the charm, ladies and gentlemen!”

            It was.

            Castiel and Sir Balthazar meet, but only Castiel finishes on the other side. The other knight rocks on his back, wheezing at the force of the blow, which sent him rocketing off his horse.

            Dean jumps up, cheering for Castiel’s win. He picks up his visor, scanning the crowd, spending a few seconds on Dean before moving past. Castiel finds what he needs, motioning his page forward. The young boy brings out a rose, handing it to Castiel in exchange for his helmet.

            “What’s he doing?” Dean asks.

            “It’s what the winners do,” Charlie tells him, “Get the audience involved… usually handing a ‘fair maiden’ a rose, kissing her hand, playing it up. Y’know… like in Game of Thrones.”

            “Oh.”

            “What’s this? Seems like our dear Black Knight has a parting token! Well… to the victors go the spoils. Sir Emmanuel, if you must, give that beautiful rose to the lovely lady that’s caught your eye!”

            Dean finally tears his eyes away as Castiel trots closer. He doesn’t think he can watch the scene unfold, as some young girl giggles at the offer, or an older woman laughs and kisses his cheek and calls him ‘sweetie’. He’s so lost in his thoughts; he doesn’t notice the crowd go silent.

            “Or… handsome fellow,” Gabriel laughs weakly.

            “Dean!” Sam needles his elbow into his side, “Look up!”

            He does, and comes face to face with Castiel. The other man leans forward from his horse, offering him the rose and a small smile. Dean can’t think, too lost in the fairy tale wonder of it all. His body moves without thought, and the spell is broken as soon as he takes the flower from the other man.

            “And the token is accepted!” Gabriel says, recovered from the earlier bout of shock, “What a lovely gesture. As you know, we are an accepting group of people. The Renaissance was an enlightened time, and we fought _against_ ignorance. So please, don’t live in the Dark Ages – embrace the light! Let’s give it up to our Dark Knight!”

            The rest of the show blurs before him, Dean too enraptured with the rose to pay attention. By the time Sam manages to wake him from his daze, the audience was half-empty.

            “What?”

            “You okay there?” Sam starts, talking to him like he would a frightened puppy, “You know… I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.”

            Dean blinks, “What?”

            “Yeah,” Charlie agrees, “Maybe he wanted to do something since it’s June or… y’know maybe he liked how the tunic doesn’t leave anything to the imagination?”

            “But you don’t have to freak out,” Sam continues, “Or flip on the guy. Probably just meant well –“

            “Yeah, it’s not like he could have known you weren’t –“

            “Just what are you two going on about?”

            “Look, Dean,” Sam sighs, “If he comes over here –“

            “Hello.”

            They all whip around to gape at Castiel, still in his armor – albeit, missing his gloves.

            “Hey – hi,” Dean stutters shyly, “What’s up Cas – or should I say Sir Emmanuel?”

            “I knew you’d figure it out eventually,” Castiel chuckles, shifting nervously on his feet. “Look,” he says, “If the rose was a bit forward –“

            “No! No I – I really liked it,” Dean says, ignoring the bizarre expressions on the others’ faces, “If that was your way of saying sorry…”

            “I wanted to stay, I did,” Castiel tells him, “But after I got my food Gabriel pulled me away to deal with an emergency. But I’m,” he swallows harshly, “I’m glad you were able to see the match.”

            “Well, y’know,” Dean smiles, “I paid good money for my seat.”

            “Anyway… I need to head back to my tent, but I wanted to give you this,” Castiel holds a slip of paper out for Dean, “You know… the Fair is here all summer.”

            Dean grabs it, clutching it tight against his chest, alongside the rose. “Is it?”

            “Yep,” Castiel nods, “However, I don’t know how I should spend my time when I’m not working. Do you have any suggestions?”

            “I have a few,” Dean says, “I’ll tell you about them some time.”

            “Don’t keep me waiting, then,” Castiel grins, nearly tripping over his feet in his excitement. He blushes deeply, waving at Dean once more before jogging back towards his tent. Dean watches him go with his own red face to deal with, a problem that only gets worse once he remembers Sam and Charlie beside him.

            “Heh-heh… heh…” he turns to them, “Well… that was – that sure was… yep…”

            “Dean!” Charlie starts, punching him, “How come you didn’t tell me!”

            “Ow – it – ow – never really came up – stop it!”

            “Never came up?” Sam scoffs, “Dean, this isn’t the kind of stuff that comes up – it usually _comes out_ –“

            “Hey –“

            “Wait,” Charlie stops him, “Is this why Lisa broke up with you? Because you like guys?”

            Dean blanches, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand. “Well…” 

* * *

 

            “Dean! Dean, could you help me out?” Lisa carries the grocery bags into the house, dropping them onto the kitchen table with a sigh. “Thanks Dean!” she sighs, closing the door behind her. She hangs her purse on a nearby coat rack and goes to sort through the mail on the counter. “You better not be sleeping Dean!” she yells, “We have our appointment with Dr. Akopian in an hour – and then Ben wants us to go see that new movie after we pick him up from my mother’s…” She glances towards the stairs. “Dean?”

            She huffs, placing the mail back onto the counter before moving up the stairs. “Dean, I’m serious – you remember the last time you went to our session after a nap? It was a waste of one-hundred and fifty dollars and hour, that’s what happened.” She sees that their bedroom’s door is ajar. “Y’know,” she mutters to herself, “Sometimes I don’t think you take this seriously. I mean… all that’s at stake is our _relationship_.” The closer she gets to the door, the easier it gets to hear a familiar buzzing sound. She raises a brow, “...Dean?”

            Lisa barges in, catching Dean at an inappropriate angle. He looks at her from between his open legs and yelps “Lisa-aagh…ooh…”

            “Oh my God,” she cries, covering her eyes, “Is that _my vibrator!?!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Did thou liketh it?
> 
> It was a toss-up between knight Castiel or Robin Hood!Castiel and while the latter had some appeal, the story just wasn't there in the way that I wanted it to be.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Drop a kudos and/or a comment!


End file.
